


overexposed prince

by theelusiveflamingo



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Shameless Smut, Thank You Dirtygot, butt stuff, idek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-04
Updated: 2014-03-04
Packaged: 2018-01-14 12:33:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1266754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theelusiveflamingo/pseuds/theelusiveflamingo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The tags say it all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	overexposed prince

**Author's Note:**

  * For [spinsterclaire](https://archiveofourown.org/users/spinsterclaire/gifts).



Even though Cersei spent a half-hour in the shower, lathering every part of her body til it felt as silky-smooth as it should, treating her hair to some new Fekkai products (all bought with _her_ hard-earned money, not Father’s, thank you very much), when she stepped back into the bedroom, lit all faded by the early-morning sun slowly making its way through the curtains, Rhaegar was still asleep.  The scene looked like fucking poetry, so overexposed it could’ve been an Urban Outfitters ad, with Rhaegar’s silver-white hair and his porcelain-doll skin all splayed out atop their pristine white sheets.  They’d knocked off her red and gold throw pillows in the night and everything before her eyes was light, pure, clean, _perfect._

It made her believe in romance all over again. Jaime, Rhaegar.  They were the only ones who’d ever made her believe it could be real.  And she’d had them both.

She let her towel drop to the floor.  _The maid can pick it up_.  She slid back into bed and shook her wet hair into Rhaegar’s face.  He moaned, but still found it within himself to take a clump of her soaked golden curls into his fist to kiss it.  He was never too tired for Cersei Lannister, _never._

She sprawled out on her stomach next to him, stretched her arms and legs in that slow feline way that made her feel like the sexiest fucking top bitch alive (and she _was,_ wasn’t she?), and ran her teeth slowly up his neck, smelling his heat and musk and even a bit of herself from sitting on his face last night til her throat was sore from crying out.  She kissed up his jaw, over the tiniest bit of stubble on his cheek that he’d shave away whenever he finally got out of bed, and finally nipped at his earlobe.

“Good morning, you lazy fuck,” she whispered.  “I actually have to get up now because I _work_ for a living.  Care to join me?”

“I’m not lazy, my emerald queen,” Rhaegar murmured.  Was he cheesy?  Tyrion and Jaime thought so, but they were both jealous, Tyrion because Cersei could actually get laid for her good looks alone and not just her money, and Jaime _because_.  Rhaegar’s compliments made Cersei’s cunt tingle.  They made it _hurt_ in a way no one, _no one_ else ever had.  They made her want to beg…They made her, the proud Lannister, want to beg.

She would try not to, this morning, as she always tried.

“Composing harp pieces, occasionally getting to perform them live, and living off your family’s inheritance doesn’t really count as _working_.”

“Why not?” Rhaegar murmured.  He slung his arm around her back and smoothed his palm over the skin between her shoulderblades, over and over and over.  His fingers were rough from his harp strings.  Cersei arched her back, caught her breath.  “You and I are both creative, my Cersei.  We both use our minds to bring things into the world.  We just do it in different ways.”

“Sounds like some bullshit to me.”  Cersei felt like she’d inhaled multiple bottles of wine.  But no, she was just next to Rhaegar, talking to him, soaking in every bit of her overexposed-film prince’s presence.  She tried to get up, but his palm pressed down just slightly hard on her back.

“You’re not going to work just yet.”  Wetness was already pooling in her cunt. 

“Oh?”

Rhaegar ran his hand slowly down her spine, cupping the curve of her ass softly, then dipping it down.  She moaned as his fingers inched tantalizingly closer to her cunt, but they stopped.  She pushed her hips back against his hand, urging him.  _Come on_ , she thought, the heat in her slit and the heat of his hand making her bite hard into her pillow.  _Come on, come on.  Please, Rhaegar, I need—I need it, I—_

The slender, calloused fingers backed up and slid between her ass cheeks, stopping to softly pinch each one.  One fingertip circled there, slowly, slowly, slowly, never threatening to _enter_ , just driving her fucking _mad_. The sheet was already feeling sticky where it was bunching up between her legs.

“You’re just out of the shower,” Rhaegar explained quietly.  “I couldn’t resist.  I’m sure you don’t mind.  You never mind anything I do to you, right?”

Cersei groaned so loud she was sure the neighbors heard.  He’d fucked her there before and enjoyed it, which no one else she knew had done, not even Jaime.  It was just how much he was lingering, stroking her there, drawing it out.  She felt like a queen.  She felt filthy.  She wiggled her hand underneath her.  Rhaegar always loved to watch her touch herself.  He said it looked beautiful.

“I mean to worship every part of you,” Rhaegar said, his voice low, his enunciation perfect and deliberate.  He turned to look at Cersei, and stupid as it felt to admit, she nearly wept at the way his sad purple eyes had darkened, the way they almost pulsed with admiration.


End file.
